


I’m Playing His Game

by orphan_account



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Cody doesn’t interract with the Elite anymore, Full Gear, Golden lovers if you squint, It’s implied that the bucks and kenny are fwb, Kenny Omega and Adam Page were together prior to Full Gear, Matt is a righteous little shit, Moxley is Moxley, My interpretation of the Cleaner, My vision of Winter Is Coming, Nick trusts Kenny, No weird incest stuff with the bucks both sleeping with kenny i promise, Other, Plenty of sexual tension, The Cleaner - Freeform, The Cleaner is Manipulative, The Cleaner is almost like a split personality, literally just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27862478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kenny is being tormented by a ghost from his past. And if that wasn’t enough in the first place, he has his title shot against Jon Moxley in a matter of weeks.At least he still somewhat has the Young Bucks in his corner.
Relationships: Kenny Omega/Adam Page, Matt Jackson/Nick Jackson/Kenny Omega
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. I’m Makin’ Friction With a Sad Vacuum

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on here, so be gentle! 
> 
> It’s Canon Divergent after Chapter 2 or so, due to being mostly written prior to Winter is Coming.
> 
> I really hope I did The Cleaner justice, as I’ve never written Kenny in that light before.
> 
> At the beginning of every chapter I state the date, so you can find the corresponding clips if you like!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Full Gear, Kenny wonders if being a good person is all it’s cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following takes place at Full Gear 2020.

It didn't hurt at first, like tugging on those little bits of skin around your nails, but then before you know it, it does, and it's sore and irritated and distracts you from everything. And just like that, now it did hurt. 

He had far more than he ever bargained for and he was coming apart at the seams, the embroidery that kept the patchwork facade the world called 'Kenny Omega' intact was tearing, seams popping and ripping. Now the mask was crumbling, falling away more each passing day.

The feeling lived in everything, but mostly, it lived in the way he treats Adam. 

The bitterness in every word he had spoken of him, the backhanded compliments, the condescending attitude. Not to mention the ruthless insults that he would spew in more... private moments between the two of them.

Adam enjoyed them, but he didn't know Kenny meant them. The venom wasn't a facade. 

Before their first split, when Adam was the one filled with rage, Kenny would be the one indulging in those dark words, enjoying the way they fell from the Cowboy's lips. It helped him to regulate himself, letting those ugly feelings fuel the fire that flickered between the two of them. 

But in more their more recent... adventures, Kenny had been the one taking charge.

Or rather, they had been. 

He knows himself well enough by now to know that they come back sometimes. He knows how to stave off the worst of it until it all blows over and things settle down. 

But this time the voice echoing in his ear was louder. He tried to listen but the playful whispers made his ears hurt. 

When he looked in the mirror, he could see him there, lingering behind him with a devilish grin. A hand making a gun, clad in black leather. There was a shimmer to the aviators, and the light glinted menacingly off them. 

He found pairs of them everywhere. In his bags, in his home. They were everywhere. Haunting him. Chasing him.

And they were catching up.

When Kenny begins to fall like this, he always takes someone with him, too. He can't help it, he craves for someone to feel even close to as restless as he does. He craves that someone else feels that burning itch to make someone hurt. To feel tension and horror and disgust radiating from the world around him. 

It's a sick little game, to see how far he can push before someone breaks. He knows his friends well enough to know that one of them will snap soon. He knows it's sick, but it feels almost natural. 

It feels right. 

He takes pleasure in it, prodding their open wounds and pulling at their threads, baiting them into snapping and then playing the victim.

He knew someone would snap soon. He didn't expect it to be himself, though. 

The moment he touched Adam's shoulder after their match at Full Gear, he was a goner. The last of the old Kenny died then and there, and the Cleaner took over for good.

When he walked back to the locker room, he went to the EVP room. He saw a pair of aviator sunglasses on the table. He put them on. It felt good. 

It felt right.

He slipped on the beaten leather jacket. The one he used to wear the last time the Cleaner surfaced. He ran a hand through his hair. For the first time in so long, he felt confident, and it was intoxicating. Addictive, and highly so. He let the feeling linger. 

Being bad felt good. And could it really be bad if it felt so right? If it was wrong, why did he feel so happy for the first time in so long?

The sight of Matt and Nick's match ending snapped him out of his reverie. He smiled to see Matt sobbing with relief into his brother's chest, and to see his brother smiling like that. It was truly a perfect moment, and it was a moment he wanted to share in. Cleaner or not, he loved Matt and Nick, even if they worried and nagged a little too much for his liking.

He scrambled to his feet, shed his leather jacket and took off his sunglasses. He pushed past Adam in the hallway, and he looked at him like he had been burned.

Kenny scoffed, before jogging down the ramp, on his way to celebrate with his friends. Just pretending everything was normal. 

It wasn't.

It couldn't have been more abnormal. 

He helped walk Matt back on his bad ankle while Nick limped beside him, carrying the titles.

He opened the door to the EVP room, trying to kick the jacket and shades under the couch.

It was too late though. The young bucks had both seen. They each gave him a look of confusion, and he looked away. Putting the jacked back on, and donning the sunglasses.

It was a tense silence as the two brothers tried to non verbally communicate on what was going on. 

Kenny was watching Moxley's every move on the monitor in the EVP room. He was sat down, leant forwards eagerly. Obsessing over every intricate detail of each move.  
There was a stoic smirk on his face as he slowly pulled on a pair of black gloves from the jacket's pocket. All or nothing.

It was time for the Cleaner to pay Jon Moxley a little visit.


	2. He’s The Giggle at a Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cleaner confronts a new foe, and the Young Bucks begin to worry for Kenny’s sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent from here on out!
> 
> The following events take place at Full Gear 2020, and the subsequent days after the show.

The Cleaner sauntered out onto the ramp, wearing his signature leather jacket and gloves with a pair of his classic sunglasses. He clapped sarcastically as Mox raised the title, almost grinning with barely contained excitement.

The tension was mounting, growing with every passing second. Each waited for the other to make a move, and for a few moments, all was quiet and still.

Kenny raised a leather-clad hand, three fingers pulled back, and one extended, thumb pointing up. Like a gun. Then he cocked his wrist back, as if he were firing the imaginary gun at Moxley.

He almost laughed at the look of frustration and confusion on the other man's face. He allowed himself a soft, condescending chuckle as he called for a microphone.

"Congratulations, Jon. You beat an old friend." He got into the ring, immense sarcasm obvious from his body language alone, let alone the tone of his voice, or the way he drawled out the words. He paced the ring while he spoke, gesturing with his gloved hands. "I did too, just tonight. It's not really that hard."

He'd been playing with Hangman. Toying until he got bored enough to end the match. That was just the way of the Cleaner. He loved the thrill of the chase, and the brutality of the fight, but he was a man of very little patience. And yet, he took immense patience to deal with.

Jon glared at him coldly, and Kenny's smugness didn't waver. 

"You beat me once. But you've never faced The Cleaner." He dropped the mic, sauntering back up the ramp.

"Goodbye and goodnight." He announced.

He walked to the back, ignoring everyone else on his way back to the EVP room. His grin was almost uncontrollable, perfectly plastered on, and his eyes glinted behind the reflective glasses.

His head was held high, unashamed and unrepentant. He sat back in his spot on the couch, leant forward, elbows resting on his thighs. His smirk hadn't yet wavered, and the Jackson brothers shared a concerned look, wondering just what this tournament had awakened in Kenny.

They didn't wonder for very long before everything fell into place. 

The next week passed in a blur. Kenny spent most of it studying tapes of old matches. Mostly Moxley's old matches. He would laugh at the most bloody times with the precision of a sadist, relishing in the sounds of the chair shots and Moxley's cries of pain as he landed on the barbed wire.

He rewatched his own match against Mox. The barbed wire, the mousetraps, the broken glass. It's insane to actually watch himself do all that stuff, now that the adrenaline is gone. 

Sure, he's violent, but he doesn't normally put himself at such a risk or disadvantage as stepping in the ring with an unsanctioned Jon Moxley with all the weapons in the world.

On the screen, Moxley's back was covered with the same angry rash of punctures as Kenny's own, though Jon's were layered over a much more elaborate tapestry of faded marks and older gouges and ridges of scar tissue. 

He idly wondered if he had left any scars on him, during that match. He hoped so. It would be a shame to have for Mox to have left without taking any souvenirs. He knew he had many souvenirs of his own on his back. He wore them like trophies.

The sunglasses stain his world as grey as it feels, and it actually doesn't bother him all that much. At least it's not golden. 

Anything but golden.

He runs a hand through his hair. If the Bucks were here, they'd call him out for being nervous. It was his tell, it always had been. 

He watches the clips of himself wielding the broom wrapped with barbed wire. He watches himself strike Moxley with it. He watches himself revel in the man's thrashing and pleading. 

He watches the clips with the broken glass. He watches himself make Moxley crawl through the unforgiving shards to break the hold. 

He watches the clips of the barbed wire net. How he himself thrashed and screamed as the barbs clung to him. He watches Matt and Nick assist in lifting him out of the clutches of the very torture device he remembered creating. 

He avoids the clips of the Phoenix Splash. He doesn't want to think about Kota right now. He wants to think of something, anything else.

Anything but golden.

He has missed calls from Matt. A couple from Nick, too. Even one from Cody. All three other members of the Elite reaching out for him, searching for answers. Trying to see behind the glasses, trying to find the Kenny they have grown to trust. The Kenny they have grown to adore like he was a member of their own family.

Kenny is passionate and theatrical in everything he does, so he picks up when it rings again.

It's Nick.

"Kenny?"

"You called? 23 times I might add." 

"Listen-" Nick started, but he was cut off. There was a commotion on the other end of the line and he heard a muffled "gimme that." 

"I'm listening." Kenny's voice was bored as he interrupted the obvious fight, almost lazy

"I know that this whole tournament thing has been a good distraction from..." Matt started, but faltered. 

Kenny was about to say something, but stopped so quickly Matt couldn't be sure that was the thing that made him hesitate in the first place. 

"...everything," Matt finished.

"Everything, huh?" Kenny almost laughed at how it somehow managed to be simultaneously both a lame avoidance of the name nobody wanted to say out loud in his presence and the absolute truth.

Kenny gave up on holding back, and let out a long, bitter laugh. It was haunting

"I'm fine." Kenny gave up on holding back, and let out a long, bitter laugh. It was haunting. The kind of laugh that you would hear from the mysterious stranger at a funeral. 

"Actually, I'm golden."


	3. Flawless Execution, An Inelegant Solution.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny learns something new about his opponent, and formulates a plan. He needs the Bucks on his side, though, and they aren’t too keen on the idea.

The following events takes place on the November 18th, 2020.  
———-

Kenny was watching on the monitors. His foot idly tapped. The Cleaner could never sit still. He had put his gloves aside, one on top of the other, and his sunglasses on top of the gloves.

His hands were laced together as he listened to Moxley talk on the monitor, blue eyes trained on the screen.

He spoke about his father. How much he frightened him when he was a boy, how he wouldn't hesitate to use corporal punishment to keep him in line. He told a story of something his father had once said, and how that shaped him as a person. 

He had to admit, it was a moving tale even if it was mostly sentimental drivel. He was wondering just what Mox was trying to achieve here. Was he trying to play for Kenny's sympathy?

He was about to stop listening and go train for a while, since the other man didn't seem to have anything worthwhile to say. He was lacing his boots and pulling on his gloves when something caught his attention.

"I've got a pregnant wife at home."

Well, that was new. His face split into a devilish grin, and he flicked his gaze back up to the screen.

Oh, this was good. So good. He let out a long laugh. It was almost haunting, the way he threw his head back and chuckled. Moxley had given him free ammunition on a silver platter.

He pulled on the worn leather jacket. It bore many marks which lead to memories. Not the sentimental kind, but the kind that fuel your heart with a swirling despair that has no way to escape but through fists.

Or driving his knee into an opponent's skull, feeling the bone shatter upon impact, and watching his now concussed foe slump down from the ropes to fall to the unforgiving canvas. 

That would also suffice.

He slid on the sunglasses, and nodded to the Young Bucks. A motion to go and complete the task he had laid out for them, nice and clearly. 

"You know we're always in your corner, but we're worried about you, man," Nick said, stepping in front of him to block his path. Kenny often avoided emotional conversations, as evidenced by the trio's last interaction.

"I guess it's just where your head's been lately." Matt picked up, clearly trying to divert away from the topic of their task that they so desperately wanted to be free of. 

As the name implied, the Cleaner wasn't the type to get his hands dirty, unless it was extremely important to him, or someone had given him enough incentive.

He preferred to put a hit out on someone, have his friends or a member of the locker room who had a grudge handle things. 'Delegating', he called it. Or something equally clinical and depersonalised.

Although Matt knew better than to say no to Kenny when he was told to get something done, it seemed his younger brother would have to learn this the hard way.

The Cleaner was emotionally manipulative. He could get anything he wanted out of the two of them with a few words and nothing more. Every sentence was spun as delicately and elegantly as a spider's web, and left them feeling as if the air had been squeezed from their lungs.

"It's not a good place, Kenny." Nick continued, not recognising Matt's warning. "We're really worried for you."

"The only thing either of you need to worry about is finishing the job when I call for it." Kenny said. He suddenly seemed so tall, so authoritative.

"Kenny, this is too fa-" Matt warned, frozen anxiety seeping the pit of his stomach. He could see the cogs turning in Kenny's mind, now that the patchwork man he had grown to adore like a brother had crumbled away, leaving only this ruthless leader in place of his friend.

"You heard his promo, we aren't going to do this. We aren't going to injure him!" Nick interrupted, yelling over the end of his elder brother's sentence. Matt 

"That's not what you said yesterday, Nicholas." Kenny said coolly. It was almost clinical in tone. "You swore to me that you had my back." 

He cocked his head to the side, suddenly, tugging on the second leather glove. His boots clicked as he began to close the distance between them. Every single sound filled Matt's heart with fresh dread.

"Or have the circumstances changed? Did you.. lie to me? Answer carefully." Kenny asked again, with a voice that attempted to mimic hurt. It was enough to guilt-trip Nick into immediately crumbling and giving way to Kenny's demands.

"No- that's not what I-" Nick looked at the floor, feeling guilty. Kenny stepped in, so they were face to face. Noses almost touching. There was no threat, only the promise of one. 

"Then do what I say." He snapped, before his tone and expression softened, lifting Nick's chin with a gloved finger to make eye contact.

"You trust me, don't you, Nick? We're friends." He tucked a stray bit of brown hair behind Nick's ear, and He swallowed thickly, before he nodded. 

"I- Okay. We'll do it. For you."

Kenny smiled. "Good. Good boy." He straightened himself up, speaking like he was talking to a child. "Now go. The contract signing starts in five. I need him down and out as soon as possible, and I need you to not get caught. I'll be very disappointed if this goes wrong. Do you boys understand?"

Both brothers nodded, before scrambling to carry out his demand.

Kenny walked out to the contract signing, and took his seat, a loose smirk decorating his face. Moxley's music played, but he didn't show. Kenny could help himself as the smile became a grin. He didn't feel even a shred of remorse as the camera feed flashed up.

Moxley wasn't nearly as hurt as he would like, but he was down, and he was bleeding. Good enough for him.

He leant back in his chair.

"Now Jon, I'm not good at these... psychological things. I'm just going to sign this-" his pen elegantly danced across the page.

"And leave."


	4. Do You Know Your Enemy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny is making preparations for his match at Winter is Coming, and cuts a promo on his enemy before the contract signing.

The Cleaner is ruthless.

There's no other way to define it that does it justice. He's a manipulative sadist. A contract-killer who thinks so much of himself that if he doesn't find his target interesting enough, he delegates the task to someone else.

In his hands, the microphone is a gun, and his words are bullets. He shoots to kill, and fires at rapid speed. He weaves a deadly narrative with suggestion alone.

He is a prodigy with words, able to make an enemy second-guess every action, getting right under their skin even if they are on the brink of victory. 

Looking through their eyes and seeing what they see, until he sees a forest and not just the trees. He walks in their shoes, until he is sure he is one and the same as the man who is playing his game. He works steadily, ever so careful, making sure he has his aim perfect.

He remembered the promo he had watched on the monitors. He remembered the weak parts of Mox that he had exposed with his own words.

His demeanour was casual and careless, not an ounce of tension in his features. He was a contract-killer with a mission he knows he won't fail. He has the target in his sights. He sees no reason to be tense.

His mistake last time was playing this game on Moxley's terms. Even if he were purposely setting himself up to fail, he couldn't make that mistake again.

No, this match would be in Kenny's turf, where it belongs. In the ring. No weapons, just their bodies. A normal, classic wrestling match. An environment where he excels.

It was like Moxley wanted to lose.

After playing nice for a year, the Cleaner had learned the weaknesses of half the locker room, but Mox's secrets had eluded him. He'd seen right through the popping seams of the patchwork man, took one look at what lurked underneath the surface, and put his guard up.

Kenny has respect for that. He was clever, that was for sure. 

The words were as fluid as his thoughts, falling into place perfectly as he spoke, altering his tone to walk the tightrope between condescending and disinterested.

He kept things generic, to start. Attacking his style, displaying his own arrogance. Calling out their history. He began to walk away after a while before turning back. And with a grin, he got to everything he actually wanted to say.

"Oh, I almost forgot. You're a good guy Jon. Listening to that childhood story of yours... it really tugged at my heartstrings. I hung on to every word, and I really believed every last bit of it. But the thing is, thinking back, I don't think your dad was that tough at all, in fact-" He gave a broad grin. "I'd go so far as to say that my dad could beat the shit out of your dad." 

"Also- Send Renee my congratulations, will you?" He laughed softly as he walked away with a distinct swagger. He was satisfied with everything he had said. He had no regrets. 

He waited in the EVP room, and the young bucks were sat there on the floor. "Well done. You did as I asked." He nodded in acknowledgment but gave not much in the way of praise. He didn't think they had earned that.

Time dragged along, but eventually the contract signing came around. Kenny was waiting to go out, before a blow to the head sent him staggering forward. The suit was stuffy and restrictive, rendering him mostly defenseless as Moxley dragged him to the ring by his hair. 

He heard Mox let out a feral growl, and whisper to him, with a voice so deadly serious it actually rattled him for a moment. 

"Never. Ever. Mention. My. Wife. Again."

Kenny smiled again, and Mox tossed him over the table where the contract and title belt lay, as if he weighed nothing at all. He tumbled, soon coming to a stop, not far from the ropes. Moxley had grabbed the belt off the table and was walking closer to Kenny.

Kenny reaches out, trying to get to his hands and knees, not wanting to stay in such a vulnerable position. Moxley stands on his hand, twisting his foot back and forth as if he were trying to grind his hand down to a mere stain on the canvas. He thrashed. The pain was immense and he knew that he was crying out, he could feel the air leaving his lungs and his lips were parted, but he couldn't hear the sounds.

Moxley hooked his arms under Kenny's, lifting him and dropping him down on his head, driving him down on the metal playing of the title. His ears rang after the impact.

He could hear Moxley's voice. Filled with rage and energy.

"I don't know who you hired to take me out last week, but they did a piss poor job of it. I'm still walkin!" He paused to pace before continuing the tirade. The words were fuzzy, but they did reach Kenny's brain. Only barely.

"Next time you wanna put a hit out on somebody, give me a call. I can hook you up with some guys in Philadelphia, they do great work..."

The words began to melt and morph into one, and he could barely make out any words. Kenny He touched his neck. God, it hurt, and it hurt bad. 

Turns out getting dropped on your head does that.

He was still trying to get his breathing right, to feel somewhat normal. He could only make out one more part of Moxley's monologue.

"When you come at the king, you best not miss. Because I take no prisoners. Steady your hand, aim, and take your shot, Kenny. 'Cause you're only gonna get one."

He heard the wail of the electric guitar that opened Moxley's theme song and heard him walk out, leaving him laying there, sprawled out on the canvas.


	5. All Of The Data Has Been Analysed, And Yet There’s Something I Don’t See

The following takes place between 25th Nov and 2nd Dec 2020

——-

Moxley's words were still echoing through his head as he stumbled to the back. Who did Jon think he was? 

Kenny's blood boiled, but he pushed it down. He needed to save that anger for next week, when their rivalry would come to a close and Jon would see that it had never been a possibility for anyone other than the Cleaner to emerge victorious. 

He grinned. 

The week dragged by. Filled with only studying old matches, and finding weaknesses. Trying to think like him. Learning what put him at ease.

Filled with only training until he could barely stand, limbs heavy and strange at his sides, and even then, he would keep training. 

He only stopped to eat and sleep and strategise, and even then, he had tapes of Moxley's matches running. He had scoured every scrap of information he could find on Moxley. 

Twitter feeds, Facebook pages, even his wife's instagram. The things that he's said, the foods that he likes, the places he's been.

He'd mimic his will, and learn his routines. He'd get in his head and under his skin. He'd look for the signs and know what they mean. 

He was obsessed, he refused to underestimate him again. He had to win this, he had to show that he could do this.

His gloves and glasses were never far from him as he tumbled down into this abyss of neuroticism and delusion. He drove himself half-insane with this compulsive routine, until finally the day came. 

They stood opposite each other. Mox raising the title, Kenny aiming an outstretched hand, making a pointing motion, like a gun. The bell rang. The match began. 

Moxley throws himself at Kenny, who sidestepped. 

Predictable. So predictable.

"You've been studying." Moxley smirked, but that almost feral malice was clear. Kenny bent his knees, ready for anything, mind already cycling through the possibilities, scanning like a computer analysing a section of code. He noted his stance and other body language and dodged a headlock by darting to the side.

But Moxley hadn't been aiming for a headlock. The clothesline practically turned him inside out. He felt a sharp stab of panic as he grabbed for the ropes, pulling himself up to his feet. He was most vulnerable on the ground. 

"You're scared. Don't say you aren’t, you’re not fooling anyone." Moxley growls, circling Kenny like a lion stalks a limping gazelle. 

"I'm not, I'm not," Kenny answers, though he's not sure which accusation he's denying. His voice is hoarse and a little desperate, and he tells himself he's just lulling the other man into a false sense of security. The Cleaner isn't afraid of anything.

Moxley's strong, calloused hand grips hard in his hair, leaning in and punching him sharply in the gut with his free hand. 

"The difference between you and me, Kenny, is that I‘ve know violence my whole live. You’re a tourist to this life." The other man growled in his ear, shoving him to the ground. The Canadian hit the canvas with an echoing crash.

"This was a bad idea, Omega. I'm not gonna take responsibility for what happens to you tonight" Moxley barks at him, "I'm gonna hurt you, and you're gonna hate every fucking second of it."

Moxley crouches over him, and looks down as though he were grieving. A gentle look of sympathy and regret. 

"You don't want this, Kenny." 

"I want it, Jon, I want it." There was a whisper of the Old kenny in his voice. Buried beneath the harsh nature of the words, there was something like desperation and hope.

"Stand up." Moxley orders him, and Kenny finds himself feeling like he's trying to keep his balance on a surfboard, but the ring is stationary under his feet. 

"Come on, Kenny. Hit me."

Moxley's arms are spread wide. Welcoming an attack. Kenny smashes his elbow into Moxley's nose

" Come on! " Moxley shouts, making Kenny flinch. He pushes off the ropes, focusing his eyes on Moxley's. He's sprinting now, leaping into the air and raising his knee, aimed for the head. The V-Trigger, or so he hoped.

He's eagerly bracing for impact, but it never comes. He's falling, and he lands on his side. Kenny pushes himself up onto his knees and elbows. His forehead's pressed to the   
canvas as he tries to catch his breath. 

"Kenny Omega, the best goddamn wrestler in the world," Moxley drawls, the words dripping with contempt, falling from his lips like perfect poison.

He feels Moxley step closer to him, then rear one leg back to deliver a hard, swift kick to Kenny's side. A wheezing breath comes out of him, as he hadn't any time to brace for the impact

Kenny rolls onto his back and throws his arms over his face as his chest continues to heave. Moxley plants a knee and all his weight on Kenny's stomach, forcing air out of Kenny's lungs and making him retch. 

"You don't want this, Kenny," Moxley warns him, but he doesn't waver. His pride won't let him.

"I want this." He insisted, before managing to get to his feet. Kenny smacks him in the jaw, and they both go sprawling from the raw force. Kenny is up again quickly. 

Mox kicks the other man's legs out from under him, and Kenny manoeuvres himself to land on Moxley.

Kenny's body is deceptively heavy. He always looks so light on his feet that it's easy to forget that he weighs over 200 pounds. He quickly rolls over so his weight is pinning the other man to the floor, and he delivers blow after blow. One of his fists catches Jon's eye. It's a precise hit but there isn't a lot of weight behind it. 

He gets Kenny back with a punch to the nose. That puts Kenny on the back foot, fighting to squirm away. 

Jon takes great pleasure in grappling him down to the ground. He traps Kenny under him and sits over the other man's stomach, waiting to see if he has had enough.


	6. Do You Know What’s Worth Fighting For? When It’s Not Worth Dying For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As tensions grow throughout the world title match, Kenny throws caution to the wind and fights for the title he so desperately wants.

The following takes place on 2nd Dec 2020  
——

The Cleaner winced as he felt the stinging pain pulse in his nose, and his hand instinctively moved to touch his face. 

Thick, syrupy blood began to trickle down, and his fingertips were covered in a light sheen of it from the point of contact. He barely bothered to stem the flow. 

Moxley's weight pinned him down, and he was trapped as Jon continued to repeatedly and relentlessly strike him. 

Kenny laughed. It was shrill and sharp and piercing and there was no mirth or warmth in it. 

It was enough to make the man above him hesitate for the split second that he needed. He punched Moxley under the jaw, rocking his head back with the force, buying the time to free himself. He pulled Moxley into the first submission manoeuvre that came to mind, but he rolled out of it with relative ease.

Kenny was not going to lose the momentum he had worked so hard for. He raced to the top rope, leaping into a perfect moonsault. His opponent was resilient, and he knew he would have to pull out all the stops. 

Good. He thrived under pressure. 

Time seemed to slow when he was suspended in midair, completing the 270 degree rotation required to correctly execute the manoeuvre.

He landed ribs first, but it clearly hurt Moxley more than it hurt him. He hooked the leg for the pin, and Moxley kicked out at one, to the crowd's glee.

How was he still going? 

Kenny gritted his teeth and shoved him, hoping to create enough space to take a breath and a second to rethink. No dice. 

The crazy son of a bitch was back up in a second, and in the blink of an eye, Moxley had him upside-down. This was a set-up for something, and Kenny was far too disoriented right now to figure out what for. 

Either a pile-driver, or a powerbomb that could end with Kenny cracking his head against the ringpost. Either option could end the match, along with his career. 

At this point, with the amount of adrenaline in his system, winning the match seemed more important than having an intact skull when this was all over, so he focused on that. 

He braced himself, and used his strong legs to try and pull Moxley down into a hurricanrana, but he had no momentum and, as he found out far too late, no element of surprise.

Moxley disengaged, backing up into the corner and then throwing a kick that caught Kenny between the eyes. Kenny almost felt his brain ricocheting around his skull like a pinball, and he stumbled back. He had to create some space, or Mox would kill him. 

Already, Moxley was climbing the ropes for another shot at Kenny, who, in desparation, scrambled to his feet and kicked him in the center of the chest, climbing to the top himself as Moxley fell to the unforgiving canvas.

As he struggled to find his balance, he glanced at the spot in the ring where Moxley had been moments ago and found it empty. He was on his feet again, gripping the rope beneath his left foot and climbing up, trapping Kenny with nowhere to go. 

Oh.

All it took was a gentle shove, and   
Kenny was off the turnbuckle and tumbling to the floor outside the ring, a seven and a half foot drop onto smooth concrete. Kenny heard a collective gasp as he sailed through the air, then a roar as every person in Daily's place screamed in unison, then finally a thunk as he landed flat on his back.

I better get a raise for this BS.

He thought idly, before the pain bloomed in his back. He arched up, trying to avoid anything touching the nerves that were sending repeated signals to his brain. He let out a wordless cry. His limbs were heavy and tired, but he thought through the burning, stumbling to his feet. Moxley was dragging him into the ring, leading him by the hair. 

He hooked his arms under Kenny's, and Kenny struggled, but it was far too late to turn the tables. He felt Mox begin to lift him, but he slid down, between his legs, ending up with Moxley on his shoulders.

Right where he needed him.

Moxley tried to fight it, but this time it really was too late. He tucked one of Moxley's legs behind him, flipping over and driving him down into the canvas. The One-Winged Angel.

He made the cover. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

He'd done it. He'd won. It was over. 

He struggled to even reach his feet. The blood was still trickling down his face. There was some matting his curls, beginning to dry. Kenny was so exhausted and his limbs were screaming, and he stumbled back into the ropes. 

Matt and Nick rushed out to assist him as the black began creeping into the edges of his vision. He managed his way out of the ring and onto the ramp, but his head was growing heavier by the second, and he tumbled into Matt's arms. Nick helped carry him to the back, so they could check in with the doctor. Nothing was broken, just badly bruised.

They placed him on the couch in the EVP room, and waited for him to wake up. They didn't have to wait long, before Kenny sat up, and smiled. The ringing in his head wasn't important. All that mattered was that he had won and the title was his. 

He smiled at Matt and Nick.

"Are you okay?"

"Quit your fussing, I'm fine. Never felt better."

"Kenny, you were bleeding profusely a few moments ago."

"Matt. What did I just say?" Kenny asked, tone going from jovial and smug to cold and warning like a switch had been flipped. Matt quickly looked at his shoes. 

"Come with me. We should head back to the hotel to celebrate."


	7. It Takes A Monster To Attract A Crowd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cleaner wakes after his victory over Jon Moxley, and reminds himself of his priorities.

Kenny woke the next morning, and wished he hadn't. The memories of last night's match- no, war. That's what it had been. A war. The memories of last night's war were on his skin, in the form of bruises, all in different shades of purple and black and brown and yellow. 

His head was pounding and every muscle in his body ached, but the worst pain covered his whole back. 

He would have moved if Matt and Nick weren't on either side of him, peacefully asleep. His best friends in the whole world. That thought settled him somewhat. At least he didn't have to worry about Matt's already present ankle injury to worsen.

The Elite were cheapskates, it was winter, and it was cheaper to get one king-sized bed and bundle up. It was a tight fit, since it was really made for only two people, and each of them were slightly larger than your average guy. Plus, after a big match, it was convenient for their... celebrations. 

Matt had an arm slung around Kenny's waist, and Nick's head was on Kenny's chest, each of them practically on top of him. The perfect way to wake up, at least in his opinion. With the only two people he actually cared about by his side.

The Cleaner didn't feel anything romantically towards either of them. It was all platonic. No strings attached. It had been like that was since they met, and it would stay that way until they parted. Nights on the road were long, and the brothers didn't often see their wives, and Kenny was content to fill the void for a night, every now and then.

Although he was not romantically involved with Matt and Nick, he did care for them greatly. If they were hurt, there would be a price on the head of whoever dared harm what was his. 

They were his, they had promised him that. Whatever he needed they would do, even if it occasionally took some persuasion. They were his friends and he would fight for and protect them no matter what. 

He may treat them somewhat harshly, but it's for their own good. He's protecting them from a mistake they cannot take back. At least, that's how the Cleaner justified it to them. 

Nick blinked his eyes open, finally waking. The Cleaner smiled. An actual, genuine smile. The one reserved only for them. He couldn't help but return it, despite knowing that he shouldn't. Despite knowing how wrong this whole situation is, he felt like Kenny's side was where he belonged. The way Kenny praises him when he does well is something that he can barely describe. Kenny cares for him, that he is sure of.

Matt has been awake for some time, deep in his thoughts. He thought he had long since come to terms with The Cleaner's methods, and his lack of any moral code. He was wrong. He could never be at ease with the things his friend had done, and the schemes he was likely conjuring. He could never be at ease with the things he had done on Kenny's orders.

Sure, he supposed you could argue they had always been the bad guys. But that had been Bullet Club business. Now it's just whoever was in Kenny's way. The Cleaner didn't care now, as long as he gets what he wants. There are lines, and Kenny had crossed them, laughing all the way.

Kenny had evolved beyond recognition. What was once someone who was awkward with people, funny and nerdy, was now a ruthless man who would load a gun, close his eyes and shoot without the slightest hesitation. 

The Cleaner was a familiar face, with a perfect stranger's eyes. 

The body of a man they cared deeply for, and the mind of a killer. He now had a heart of gunmetal. He wasn't the man that they had sworn to protect and care for. 

For the Jackson Brothers, the line is quickly blurring, between what's right and what is not.

"I know you're awake, Matt." Kenny's voice had that icy tone that made him shiver from head to toe. 

It pained him to know that it wasn't all fear. That part of him- some sick part of him- loves hearing Kenny talk like that. Some sick part of him craves to keep hearing that voice, dripping from Kenny's lips like chilled red wine.

He kept feigning sleep, not wanting to face Kenny right now. Kenny growled slightly, grabbing Matt's hair and yanking back, forcing him to look up into his eyes. Matt let out a strangled cry. 

"Why are you hiding from me, Matt? I'm not hiding a thing from you."

"I wish you were. Everything you've done is wrong. You... you're not Kenny. I'm not doing this all over again. You may have his smile, and his eyes, and his voice. His everything. But you aren't Kenny."

The Cleaner looked taken aback. Startled and shocked by the sudden boldness. This was delicate, now. He released the hand gripping Matt's hair, gently running his finger through. 

"Oh Matt, why didn't you just talk to me?" His voice softened, and he seemed more like the old Kenny. His eyes crinkled slightly at the sides, and his smile was sweet. Almost sickly. 

"I'm acting like this to protect you, don't you understand? As long as you listen and obey me, everything will be okay."

"That's what you said last time, Cleaner." He almost spat the word 'cleaner'

Nick was looking sheepish. He knew it was shortsighted and blind but he trusted Kenny with his life. Kenny had never let him down before, other than the odd mistake.

"Matt, stop it."

"Little brother, the adults are talking." Matt gritted his teeth. Nick wasn't naive, but he did form very deep attachments. 

"Boys, boys. Stop fighting, the both of you. We have much business to attend to."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Shut it, no one asked you."

As the brothers squabbled, Kenny smiled and shook his head. As long as he had the young bucks, he was doing alright.


End file.
